


The Medallion of Dominion

by MinMinn



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Blackmail sex, Blood and Violence, Bondage, F/M, Fingering, Kissing, Mind Control, Rape/Non-con Elements, Size Difference, Slut-Shaming, Voyeurism I Guess?, anima harvesting as torture, brain fucking?, hostage, lots of "sin" talk, watching against his will? idk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:48:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28788990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MinMinn/pseuds/MinMinn
Summary: In which Maea's guild tried to kill Stone Legion Generals before the nerf, and she finds herself stumbling head first into another of Denathrius' subtle traps.
Relationships: Denathrius (Warcraft)/Original Female Character, Denathrius (Warcraft)/Other(s), Denathrius/Maea, Renathal (Warcraft)/Original Female Character(s), Renathal/Maea
Comments: 12
Kudos: 59





	1. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, I'm sorry to anyone here from YOI stuff like [Symphony](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19301698) or [Fathoms,](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20135791) but also not really sorry because ... well. This. Was fun.
> 
> Secondly, do yourselves a favour and [ watch this.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SM90NNF3oMw&ab_channel=WorldofWarcraft) I promise it will be worth your time.
> 
> And finally, enjoy :3 It's always a pleasure to sin alongside all of you.

The room was dark. Quiet. An otherwise comforting change from the endless, echoing stone halls beyond. Soft red lamps hung from the ceiling on long thin chains, draping themselves about curtains and chandeliers, casting a muted glow across the elaborate furnishings. There was a fireplace, humming low in the far east wing of the room, casting long, soft shadows that flickered like Shades. As she entered cautiously, her eyes followed its patterns, taking in all information she could. Entrances. Exits. Potential weapons…

Her glance darted toward the far end of the grand room, wary of the solitude she was suddenly granted. _Who did these quarters belong to? Was she permitted to be here? Would there be punishment?_

She bit back a bitter scoff. There was always punishment to be found in Revendreth – deserving or not.

From what little she could see in the dim light, the room appeared to belong to someone of status. There was a wing slightly hidden from view, raised behind two walls that closed it off from her vantage point. It appeared to be a sleeping quarter from the design, and if so, the room would lead nowhere.

Choosing instead to focus on the living quarters, she took in the heavy drapery across the windows, casting her eyes across every plane and surface, down the walls and across the floors. Searching for traps. She could see minute detailing in the flooring – small twinkling gems of pure anima, woven and marbled through polished stone tiles that spoke of wealth. Influence. Power.

A tremor of fear slid its way down her spine, though she attempted to quell it before it could lock about her throat. The room couldn’t _possibly_ belong to him. The Master would never leave such a precious sanctuary unguarded, much less behind an unlocked door.

All the same, small anxieties tugged at her mind, and she decided to leave. She carefully padded across the stone floor, which proved difficult considering her blistered, weeping soles. How long had she been walking the halls of the castle? Days?

She could barely remember the mission she was tasked with. After losing so many of her comrades –

Renathal included – Maea had endlessly tried to search for some way of escape. She knew, despite how foggy her memory was, that the directive clearly stated they must escape with their lives – _hers_ specifically – should anything go amiss. Without their Maw Walker champion, the Horde, and Renathal respectively, would have little chance of victory. It was always the directive of their tasks; during any venture, various leaders had continuously reminded them of their value. The Champions of the Horde rarely went into battle without some form of a fail-safe.

She clutched at the now dim and empty Hearthstone tucked safely in the folds of her armour at her chest, and once more cursed Denathrius and his vile trickery. Not one of her party were able to leave when their final moments at the hands of Denathrius’ Stone Generals had loomed. She’d barely managed to turn the tide of battle with their final Soulstone, bitterly fighting to the ruin of her glaives until every last one of her friends were felled or taken. Her own death was a quick and fatal stab to the chest, the sneering face of General Kraal her last memory.

As her soul had risen, snatching her eyes and forcing her into the air, she watched, agonisingly waiting for her chance to slip back into her body and avoid the patrols of the guards. Even then she did not relent – once she had revived, she immediately fled the battle scene, one bitter promise to return the only thing resounding in her shattered mind. It was only in the dark safety of a small, forgotten scullery that Maea was finally able to catch her breath. Trying her luck at a quick escape with her Hearthstone, her heart had sunk with a sickening lurch when she had found it useless.

 _Wicked creature_ , she spat in her mind, biting back the desire to mutter. Denathrius’ power was beyond anything they’d faced – without the power of her Hearthstone, Maea had had no choice but to stealth through Nathria undetected until she managed to find an escape.

She still did not know where she was in the Castle, and that strange itch of awareness and fel energy wouldn’t leave her senses despite the heavy feeling in the air. She couldn’t say for certain that the room was empty of all threat.

The thick swell of anima within the castle hummed as if responding to her thoughts – the very air so charged it glittered red like ruby dust in the low light of the afternoon that glimmered beyond the windows. Or was it evening? Morning? She was still nowhere near any sort of clarity – still not sure where Denathrius was keeping the Prince, or if any members of her party might still be alive, somewhere in the depths of the castle. Or beyond. Or _below…_

The darkest of thoughts – the one that had kept her company from her first moment of snatched sleep she’d managed to find – was her state of mind. She wasn’t even sure of how influenced her thoughts were after being so long exposed to the surging anima of Denathrius’ Castle. Sometimes she heard whispers, as if they were swelling from the depths of her own consciousness. Other times she would catch a flash of white, and the curve of red light on the tips of horns, only to spin on her heels to find … nothing.

And worst were the nightmares. Vivid, soul-harrowing images of Denathrius. Of Renathal. Of chains and whips and vile, _vile_ concoctions. Of forced soiree’s and dances. Of the creeping loss of her mind under his will…

She shook her head violently. _I must protect my mind_ she reminded herself, resolving that the room she was in was _not_ the right place to be. She’d been feeling the maddening effects of the Castle for a while now, but nowhere were her thoughts more jagged than in the confines of these quarters.

She continued back, pausing at the door as she heard the small rustle of what sounded like cloth on skin. The Fel in her veins all but burst, eyes flaring and roaring into a steady flame. A warning.

She reached instinctively for her dagger, tucked neatly behind folds of armour and leather wrapping at her thigh. Her glaives were worn to the hilt after their last stand, and she’d had no choice but to abandon them as stealth became her new priority. Another reason she hadn’t been able to return to their pre-planned rendezvous point. Another reason the fear coursing through her now threatened to swallow her whole.

_Focus._

Her senses were still aflame as she scanned the room, pulsing into every corner as she let herself bleed into that comforting realm of fel and fire. And yet, despite enhancing her vision, nothing revealed itself. No blurred shadows. No inkling of a presence. From her new vantage point, Maea had clear sight of the eastern wing; the dancing shadows from the fire playing across turned sheets. Pillows. Heavy wooden bed posts and ornate filigree. Cold iron chains clamped to—

The resounding boom of a heavy stone door shook Maea to her core, gripping her dagger tighter as she spun towards the sound. The soft, red glow of the hallway lamps peeked through the thin crack of the doorway, though no shadows or sounds betrayed any company.

She kept herself quiet. Out of sight from the door, melding into the shadows and dimming the fel that raged in her eyes. _Stealth, above all_ she reminded herself.

Minutes passed. Or perhaps they were hours? Maea tried not to think too hard on it as she counted steadily in her mind, keeping her breath short and slow…

But nothing came.

It was only when she’d counted to one hundred that she allowed herself to release her breath, sucking in a large lungful to try and calm her heartbeat...

“My, my, what have we here?”

It took all of Maea’s will and good training to keep her from crying out in shock. The voice had come from the east wing … and sounded all too familiar. She clapped a hand over her mouth and pressed herself back into the shadows.

“You mortals are far too easy to predict,” the voice continued – dripping with pride and gravitas, unphased by the lack of a reply. The very air about her seemed to respond in kind – surging and swelling as heavy footfalls echoed through the high walls. It would only be a matter of time before he rounded the corner. She cursed bitterly in her mind – she must have missed a hidden entrance, somewhere in the shadows of the wing beyond.

And now she only had one chance.

Taking a moment to time the beat of his footsteps, Maea counted once more, aiming for three when she would spring out and make a run for the still parted door nearby. If she did it properly, she could mask the sound of her steps, flee through the door, and sprint with a surge of fel down the corridors and back the way she’d come. She knew there were numerous places to hide out in the open halls of the castle.

But she only had _one chance_.

_One…_

“And what is that … _delicious aroma_?” The voice was closer now – every word spoken slowly, as if speaking to a child. Speaking to _her_ through the wall, reminding her it was useless to run. **Useless _to plan. Useless to—_**

_Two…_

“A lovely symphony of anima … how delightful!” Close now. All too close. The whispers in her mind flurried into a crescendo in response to his words. Hateful things. Taunting things. **_Sinful things_ …**

_Three!_

His final footfall vibrated the very stone beneath her, anima glittering in its cracks and crevices like blood. But she had no time to see who it belonged to, dashing from her hiding spot, furiously scrambling for the door as the noise of his next footfall rung through the room and masked her efforts.

_The door!_

Familiar green flame licked at the soles of her feet as she dashed forward, reaching the entryway and wrenching the heavy stone of the door open, ignoring the rush of blood in her ears. Tensing her muscles. Preparing to slip out into the darkness of the corridors. Gripping the handle and—

“Leaving so soon?”

A cry of panic tore itself from her throat as she felt her arm buckle, the bone of it twisting and splintering as the door suddenly slammed to. It flung her back into the room to land heavily on her side, sprawled across the marbled stone floor. As the world tilted, she sensed a presence filling the room. Dwarfing her. Overwhelming _everything, everythingeverything—_

“Such a shame. I had _sorely_ hoped you would stay,” heavy armoured footfalls rung through her very skull as the owner of the voice began its way across the floor toward her. “There is _so much_ I had planned for our first … _proper_ meeting.”

A violent snarl bubbled in her throat, lip curling and teeth baring themselves. The pain in her arm was considerable, but it was dwarfed by the rising torrent of fear and panic as a long, familiar shadow plunged her into darkness, and her mind fanned into a flame of strange visions and foreign thoughts. Of **_sheets. Of horns. Hands. Skin. Heartbeats and blood and—_**

She felt a pressure shift, and a sharp tug of pain as something grabbed her by one of her small horns, yanking her to her feet and snapping her back to her senses. She hissed and growled, fighting with all the strength she could summon against their grip.

But she knew it was useless.

High in the air, feet kicking helplessly below her, Maea had an altogether new vantage point.

“Darkest greetings … _Maw Walker_ ,” Denathrius hummed, face close and all too clear in the now blazing light of the room. It seemed Maea had missed the most important tell of all – the fire of every lamp now sputtered into life as Denathrius’ very presence filled the room with power.

And filled every pore of her **_mind…_**

“Welcome, my dear,” Denathrius said with a proud smirk, one hand still holding her aloft while the other grandiosely presented the room. “I _must_ say, it is a … _pleasant_ surprise to find you here. And in my very chambers! How exciting.”

Despite the rage that twisted and locked itself in the pit of Maea’s stomach – and the ever-looming darkness of insanity that swirled in her mind - she managed to keep herself under control. Gaze steady.

She chose instead to resist. To commit his face to memory – close, now, and revealing of every minute expression. It was all too clear he seemed to think he had the upper hand, and as Maea was met with an equally searching stare, the fight in her slowly shifted to self-preservation.

“Exciting indeed,” she replied evenly, voice a low rumble, though far too small and high compared to Denathrius’ regal tones. All the same, she intended to make certain he knew what he was dealing with, and rise to his challenge. She wasn’t so easily swayed by intimidation. By tricks and mind games. His pride would be his downfall, sooner or later.

He grinned.

“I am pleased to see you are as eager as I for the festivities to begin,” he continued, still holding her aloft, though choosing now to carry her through the room and into the still dark eastern wing where he’d emerged from. “And I must admit, your timing is impeccable. I was just remarking to our new Grand Proctor that the … _fruit …_ we’ve so painstakingly cultivated over the last week must surely be ripe for the picking by now.”

_A week…?_

A small sound from the darkness of the new room behind her pricked Maea’s ears and she strained against the pain of Denathrius’ grip to try and see more. He frustrated her attempts with a simple shake, the pain flaring through her skull at her efforts. With another low growl she resigned herself, keeping her senses sharp as to what waited for her beyond.

“And what a week it has been, my dear. Wouldn’t you agree?” Denathrius’ eyes were still heavy on her skin, roving across it like clawed fingers. She could make out every line of his face in the new light of the fire. The proud, high chin and cheekbones. The jaw that smoothed into hollows in his cheeks. The ring of flashing blood red that revealed his irises **– _beautiful and striking in the low light, reinforced by a heavy curtain of lashes and a waterfall of starlight and—_**

“What was that?” Denathrius grinned knowingly, giving her another small shake to snap her out of her staring. “Too consumed with that _scrumptious_ concoction to answer?” he tutted and brought her face close to his, hot breath wafting across her skin, her stomach turning in disgust. The tip of his nose skimmed the soft, sensitive skin below her jaw …

“Your anima is so – how shall I put this?” he raised his hand and mockingly rubbed his chin, eyes widening and a wicked grin spreading across his regal features as he sneered down at her…

**_…as his hands slid across her body. Gripping her waist like wine. Like a chalice. Drinking his fill of every inch of her…_ **

_“Pliant_ ," his voice descended to a low, sonorous growl, lips tickling at the hollow beneath her ear.

Like he knew…

“Almost _willing_ ,” he said simply without waiting for a response, pulling away and eyeing her with heavy arrogance and pride. “Wouldn’t you agree … **_pet_?**”

**_Pet…_ **

As the syllables rung through Maea’s mind, she felt – with all the violence of reality – as the thin grasp she had on herself suddenly snapped. As her very brain shattered like glass. A primal, chaotic scream, split into thousands of whispers roared from the depths of her soul, back arcing as a heavy trail of blood red anima burst from her chest and into…

“ _Denathrius!”_

Maea screamed again as the pain flared, a new voice cutting across the turmoil, shocking Denathrius out of his harvesting and snapping the swirl of anima back into Maea’s chest with a painful swallowing feeling. She coughed and gasped for air; her mind seemingly intact – every piece back where it should be…

_Except—_

“What … ah … what have you done to her?”

“Hush now, my dear _Prince._ We must save your strength.”

The words met her but their meaning was lost. She had a vague sense of self, but it was crushed beneath the overwhelming weight of _another_ in her mind. Of a passenger.

A passenger that now flooded her completely, and fit her skin about him like a glove.

Against her will, Maea felt her own limbs betray her – muscle and sinew twisting with some dark new design in power. In **_control._** **_Complete dominion over such a willing subject…_**

 _“Get out of my mind!”_ Maea screamed, ignorant of the conversation unfolding below her. Of whose familiar voice rose from the darkness. The hollow sounds faded into nothing as that sickening presence surged and fought back – teasing at the very fibres of her brain and unthreading every edge…

“Child, I must insist you pay heed,” Denathrius directed his voice to the mysterious figure behind her. Try as she might to turn, she found it impossible to avert her gaze from Denathrius’ face now swimming into clarity. The malicious smile … the flashing eyes set in hollow sockets … the tongue that darted to wet the fullness of his lips …

**.. _the tongue that sculpts pleasure from your very flesh. That sucks you dry and licks you clean. Every inch. Every night …_**

_“No!”_

**_… For eternity._ **

_“Nonononono…”_ her throat closed into a whisper, words splintering into incoherent babbling, still instinctively straining at Denathrius’ iron grip on her horn. Altogether broken. Altogether **_melting in his hands—_**

 _“Denathrius!”_ A pained, broken cry. A familiar voice – **_all too familiar, wouldn’t you agree my dear?_**

 _“Please…”_ she begged, all trace of pride fleeing in the wake of the immeasurable _pain_. Every new intrusive thought like a knife – tearing into flesh and piercing the very fabric of her. Slowly separating her mind from her body.

“Ah the sweet sound of begging souls,” Denathrius purred, bringing her close to his face once again and breathing deeply, the rush of air at her jaw making her shiver, a whimper escaping her lips despite her best efforts to remain in control. “I wonder how much strength she has. Aren’t you curious, Renathal?”

Maea felt her eyes widen. Her mind may be crumbling beneath her, but she would understand that lilting name anywhere. It spoke to something different within her. Like a bell…

“It’s me you want, Denathrius,” Renathal growled. The unfamiliar tone of his furious voice blossomed into something altogether new. Into something ravenous and feral, locking and writhing in the pit of her stomach …

“Taking her accomplishes _nothing_ —ah!” Renathal’s voice was choked off by a long, rasping cough – wet and terrifying as Maea could only visualise the blood spattering from his lips…

**_Full, hungry lips. Sharp teeth. Sharp enough to shred your skin and taste your flesh…_ **

_“Enough…”_ Maea moaned weakly, arms hollowing with the effort of trying to break herself free. She felt her stomach lurch and threaten to rise in her throat as Denathrius watched – eyes heavy lidded and _hungry_. Swallowing the image of her defeat like the finest of wines. His eyes followed her arms as they slowly grew limp at her sides, the physical fight all but lost.

“ _Good_ girl,” Denathrius purred, one hand reaching to cup her chin, dwarfing her face with just one finger. Despite the obvious strength, his touch was surprisingly tender, brushing the loose curls from her face, ever so delicately caressing her with the barest of touches. A low snarl rumbled from the darkness behind her and Maea felt her heart clench uncomfortably in her chest.

Denathrius hummed a laugh, eyes flashing with mirth as he breathed deeply, savouring a scent like he would a grand feast. “Delicious.”

“Denathrius, please … ah … see reason,” Renathal’s voice – high with desperation and struggling for air. Maea could tell it was taking all his effort to even remain conscious, let alone speak. She tried not to think too hard on what he must look like…

“I’ve heard your boorish lectures countless times, child,” Denathrius suddenly straightened, regarding Renathal with a cool, indifferent stare. “That is not why we’re here.”

“If you’re here… to make a spectacle of her, it will only… provoke them to further action,” Renathal’s words were clipped and pointed. She tried to understand the conversation – vaguely aware that the two were discussing _her…_

**_But all she could think of was the way Denathrius’ hand had felt against her skin. How his touch had lit fires like beacons along the length of her body. Along the peaks and troughs of mortal flesh so ready and wanting …_ **

_“_ Come now, Renathal,” Denathrius laughed, “What could possibly persuade me to give up my _current—"_ he shook Maea by way of emphasis, her startled yelp earning a hiss from Renathal in return “— course of action?”

“It’s a sin!” Renathal snarled. Despite his humbled position, he still managed to speak with all the authority of royalty. With all the accusation of a Master of Revendreth.

And it broke Maea’s heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my mind palace, Maea and Renathal already have a strong, established friendship, but they're both exponentially stupid. So they haven't revealed their feelings.
> 
> Also Maea is a Demon Hunter so, of course, she has a lot to atone for. I'm thinking I'd like to flesh out this world a bit more with some other drabbles at some point ... *glances at mountain of adult responsibilities* so yeah. I'll uh. Get onto that.


	2. Chapter Two

“H—he won’t—" Maea managed, wincing at the sharp shudder of pain still emanating through her skull, barely able to form words. “Renathal… please…”

“ _Unhand her,”_ and Renathal’s voice was a menacing rumble. A warning. A threat.

Denathrius only chuckled, taking a moment to glance his direction. Pondering. His lips pursed as he eyed Maea hanging from his hand.

“I suppose she’s ripe enough…” he drawled, flicking his eyes up and down her frame, drinking in every inch of her with a satisfied smirk.

The world toppled as he suddenly flung her onto the bed in front of him, the soft landing causing her to bounce and fall flat on her back, feet in the air. She knew his intent, and snarled as she tried to swing herself back to her feet.

But he was quick, despite his size, and one massive clawed hand shot from his side and gripped her ankle like a vice. Panting and cursing she tried to kick him off, but he was immovable. Solid stone against **_weak, mortal flesh…_**

“Now, now. You don’t want to do _that_ my dear,” Denarius cooed, the sarcasm dripping from every word.

“Wretched _beast!”_ She screamed, watching in horror as he reached for the fastenings of her chest piece despite her efforts to stop him. Deft nails larger than her hand unhitched and cut through fastenings with ease. The familiar tight press of her bindings suddenly gave way as he slipped them loose, exposing her skin to the air and causing her to shiver and hold herself in a feeble attempt at modesty.

“Come now, mortal, that won’t do,” Denathrius chided, that condescending curl of his lip coiling rage in her chest. But before she could bite back, Denathrius suddenly released her ankle, reaching for the base of Maea’s skull, gripping at soft hairs and pulling her in toward him.

Her eyes flew wide as his lips, ever so slightly too big, crashed against hers. Brazen and _demanding._ The swilling sensation of nausea surged in her stomach, though that infuriating presence in her mind turned it into something _more_. Something with form and _famished._ Writhing like a viper within her. It twisted and shaped into something like **_lust. Desire. Wanton abandon…_**

Her hands twitched at her sides, and with mounting horror she realised she was powerless to stop them. Helplessly she watched, from the prison of her own mind, as her left hand reached to smooth its way into Denathrius’ hair, twining with the soft strands and cradling his face.

He kissed her chastely – allowing their skin to meet and meld. Giving her time to adjust. Giving her mouth the freedom to part and gasp, angling his jaw to swallow her broken moan and…

He was gone.

_…Come back…_

**_“_** The harvest is almost upon us, child,” Denathrius purred, parting from the small kiss with all the tenderness of a lover, eyes flicking mischievously to where Renathal – _Renathal, Renathal! –_ was seated. “Such a pity the coffers will be all but _empty_ by the time I’ve had my fill.”

“Ever the glutton, Denathrius,” Renathal’s voice was nothing but an animalistic hiss. All hope of negotiation bled dry from his tone. “Your greed reveals your weakness!”

“Pretty words from a _prisoner_ ,” Denathrius slid his hand across the column of her neck, watching Renathal’s every reaction, releasing her from his hold to smooth patterns across the fragile skin of her collar-bone. She sighed into him, body responding of its own accord. Distantly she wondered at the perfect fit – the way his body framed her own so **_exquisitely. The way it would feel to relent… to give… and take…_**

“—You must resist, Maw Walker!” Renathal’s voice. Foreign. Invasive. A bell tolling…

“Renathal…” Maea managed drowsily. Her mind felt torn asunder – stretched impossibly thin. Brittle. But she knew he was here. She knew… she knew…

“And now for the final touches,” a sharp drag across the flesh of her throat had Maea gasping at the thrill of it. Denathrius - all lips and tongue and teeth at her neck - sending flashes of desire rippling across her skin. Hot. _Unbearably_ hot and **_ever melting in his hands…_**

And the snarl of pure rage that met her ears as Denathrius pulled something from the folds of his robes seemed … distant … like it came from another plane. The words mingling into a slur of sounds…

“The medallion!”

“Did you think I would let it go to waste, child?”

“Insufferable _demon!”_

_“_ It is your stubborn defiance that is _insufferable, Renathal!”_ The hold Denathrius had on Maea’s mind flickered for a moment, a flash of red granting her a brief moment of clarity. She could see Denathrius above her now, one arm caging her in at her side, another gripped about the glinting metal of…

“ _You just needed to **obey,”**_ he snarled.

_The Medallion of Dominion._

**_“This_** **is obedience,”** and before she could scream, one meaty clawed hand slammed into her throat, shoving her down into the bed, a choked, garbled cry the only thing strangling from her lips. She was distantly aware of Renathal’s desperate shout, floating above her…

**_Floating … floating into…_ **

Hungry lips assaulted her mouth once again. Flashes of red and spiralling whorls of colour distorting her vision. She was vaguely aware of her body, spasming and convulsing, back arcing off the bed as her hands turned to claws. As the solid press of Denathrius’ overwhelming size forced her down harder into the bed. Suffocating. Swallowing…

**_Swallowing all of your pleasure. Drinking the very soul from you…_ **

**_“Submit,”_** he growled.

The pain she’d felt as Denathrius had overpowered her mind paled in comparison to **_this._** This tumultuous symphony of colour and **_feeling._** She could sense the threadbare tatters of her mind cling desperately to control … could feel it slipping through her fingers. Softly. Like a caress. Giving way to an **_ocean of pleasure, stretching on for eternity…_**

**_“_** Denathrius…” the tone of her voice was altogether _different._ All hint of rage giving way to a needy whine. A sound she hadn’t made for centuries…

“Maw Walker!” _Renathal … **Renathal. Your precious, valiant Renathal. Bound, and helpless to stop you…**_

Her chest seemed to swell on its own, arcing her into Denathrius’ **_touch. His touch at her waist, so small in his hand, lifting her with ease to meet him, smoothing down the small of her back and dipping low…_**

She sighed softly as she felt the thrill of his touch slipping beneath her armour, deftly loosening her leather pants and revealing the simple fabric of her smallclothes beneath. One searching finger unthreaded her fastenings, her legs instinctively lifting to allow him to deftly skim the fabric from her thighs. There was a shuddering movement from behind her – the bed shaking as something … _someone? …_ moved jarringly.

**_But his hand was wrapped about her thigh now … fingers almost touching from how small it is in his grasp … holding her leg aloft and making room for his torso to settle on her stomach …_ **

“All I need…” Denathrius crooned at her ear, head lowered, crowding her with his massive frame and making her feel **_oh so small and helpless. Weak and submissive. Like she were made for him. “_** Is your consent…”

A hacking cough met her ears, the bed sheets shifting about her head as something touched at her back…

_A trembling, hesitant touch…_

**_“_** Maw… Walker…” laboured breaths. A soft, sweet voice, so kind and—

**_You really think he’d want you_ ** **now?**

A strangled sound escaped her throat, the torrent of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. _Renathal! Renathal … Renathal was here—!_

**_Could he even bear to face you, once he saw how sinful and wicked you truly are?_ **

“R—Renathal,” a cracked sob hitched her voice, the pathetic broken tone of it only reinforcing how helpless she was. How defeated. How easily he could twist her thoughts to his will – could pull her strings like a puppeteer, and present everyone with a _show…_

_“_ I’m h—here Maw Walker,” an equally desperate voice. _So sad … why does he sound so **sad…**_

**_“_** Renathal _please,_ I can’t … ah…!” as she spoke, that searching touch at her hip suddenly gripped ever tighter, one heavy, calloused thumb liquidly smoothing across the rise of her hipbone. Dipping into the hollow there … gently … gently pressing …

“A—ah!” Her voice was a lewd, broken moan, all too consumed with lust and _wanting._ With the overwhelming fire of _sex_ and _heat_ that threatened to engulf her entirely. With one simple touch he’d managed to consume her. With one wicked smile, hovering above her, face close and within reach … her mind had scattered into a thousand pieces.

“Denathrius…” she whispered, awe and wonder flooding her eyes as she stared back at him. At _him … himhimhim—_

_“_ Say yes, **_Maea Shadowborne,”_** Denathrius’ voice was hard as stone yet **_soft as it spoke her true name. So achingly soft and tender… like the sweet Sin’dorei boy behind the barracks … like—_**

**_“_** Or he suffers,” Denathrius growled now. Eyes never leaving hers as an anguished shout – harrowing in its desperation – filled the room. As a swirling knot of anima burst from Denathrius’ hands, twisting somewhere above her head where…

“Renathal…” she craned her head, her position beneath Denathrius making it all too hard to see… his hand slammed down to grip at her cheeks, forcing her to look at him. Renathal’s cries of agony flared into twisted screams of torment, breath thinning, voice growing quiet…

“No! Please!” She reached to clutch at the hand about her face, desperately trying to wrestle it loose. Trying to wrench herself from that sickening **_control. That delicious haze of_ lust—**

**“ _Submit,”_** he growled again. One simple word. Renathal’s screams turned to nauseating convulsions of pain. Whispering strangled gasps. Choking sobs …

Tears of frustration and _fear_ blurred her vision, a pathetic hiccuping sob all the sound she could make as she tried to scream; _Stop, please! Not him!_

Maea managed to find some form of clarity as an almost silent, deathly quiet whisper told her all she needed to know. Denathrius was … _harvesting … him …_

And as Denathrius watched her reaction, still holding her face in one massive hand, Maea grit her teeth, fel flaring in her eyes. A warning.

“P—please…” she gasped.

Denathrius’ eyes flashed in the low light. Threatening. Impatient. “My dear, I will not repeat myself—”

“—I’ll do what you ask.”

There was a soft moment of pure silence, broken by a terrifying gasping sound as Renathal slumped to the bed behind her. She instinctively backed toward him, but a bone-chilling snarl that rumbled through the air above her had her flinching. _Renathal. Oh, Renathal…_

“Oh?” Denathrius pulled back slightly, the horrific screaming sound of harvested anima reducing to whispers as it whorled about Denathrius’ hand. He pulled back, releasing her gently, regarding her with a newfound curiosity and a frightfully knowing stare.

“You mean to say you’d be … _willing_?”

Maea swallowed, exhausted by Denathrius’ torturous gloating. She shifted uncomfortably, nursing too many wounds to keep track of. Yet she managed to position herself onto her knees as Denathrius watched her carefully. Testing her words.

She remained still. Allowing herself a moment to close her eyes.

_Renathal…_

She knew her way around a man, at least. She’d never cared for her own worth in … that regard. If she could offer … this. _Herself_. In his place…

She took a deep, steadying breath … like the breath before a battle …

A soft touch at her shoulder tore through her then – tore into the very core of her. Shredding her heart into ribbons because _Renathal. Oh sweet, sweet Renathal…_

“Don’t—”

She knew if she allowed him to speak, it would be the ruin of her. The ruin of _them._ Because she’d wrestled with the pride of many a King and knew he would take what he wanted. Would take and take until nothing remained but charred corpses. Broken minds.

And she knew Renathal. Knew his passion and kindness. His fury. His…

**_Weakness._ **

She shook his hand free – hard enough to be rude. Forceful enough to be a threat, thankfully halting his words. She bit back the bitter, stinging tears that threatened to spill.

_Eyes forward._

Denathrius’ large frame closed them in, making it impossible to avoid his cold, calculated stare as he crowded the bed. She still had one arm tightly about herself – bare breasts hidden beneath her arm that began to burn uncomfortably as she felt Denathrius’ eyes on them. Searching. **_Commanding…_**

Woodenly, she dropped her hand, letting it slowly fall to her side, and felt Renathal freeze at her back.

“Ah…” Denathrius’ face curled into pure pleasure; eyes used to roving where they pleased. No hint of hesitation as he drank in the sight of her. She felt her skin crawl and her stomach heave, but kept her eyes forward. Always forward.

“You picked a _succulent_ one indeed, Renathal,” Denathrius breathed, eyes still feasting, shifting closer and tearing his eyes from her to pin Renathal with an horrifically gloating stare. “I _am_ proud of you.”

_Picked?_

_“_ Maw Walker…” a pained, breathy plea from Renathal, still at her back, though she could feel the strain of him behind her. The tight control and coiled raged. How many centuries had he suffered under Denathrius’ words? To what sunken consciousness did they speak now … Maea resisted the urge to turn, bitterly forcing her eyes to remain _forward._

Denathrius had drawn close now, poised on the bed that framed him, built large enough to house his massive frame. The posts towered around Maea’s vision, far larger than anything she’d been in before. As the rough callouses of his hands skimmed the still clothed skin of her thigh, Maea tried to force her mind from her body. Tried to think of _anything. Anything but this. Anything but **this.**_

**** **_She tried to remember her first. The sweet Sin’dorei boy that had hidden with her behind the barracks. Had parted her thighs under the midnight stars. Had welled a font of pleasure with touches. Words. Sweet, fragrant kisses…_ **

“Allow me to make this easier on you,” Denathrius’ voice, so like the one that now hollowed out her mind with blinding memories and flashing visions.

**_Flashes of his smile – soft and summer scented. Of peacebloom and waterfalls. Of his hand against her hip … pressing into her … the sound of her ecstatic wail…_ **

Against her will, a strange, breathy moan escaped her lips as Denathrius touched where she remembered being touched. As his hands became soft and familiar. As long dormant memories woke with a vengeance. 

“ ** _Submit,”_** he crooned, threading his large fingers through soft, hanging curls.

**_You’ve wanted this…_ **

**** _No!_

**_From the very first…_ **

**** _No…_

_“Y—yes…”_ her voice was distant. Floating about her like it belonged to someone else. Yet Denathrius smiled so _deliciously_ as he cupped and smoothed his hands over soft, small breasts. So small in his palm, though he still managed to delicately sculpt at every inch of her, thumbing at her fast-peaking nipple with an expert touch and…

“ _Yes…”_

**_Yes._ **

**** _“…Please…”_

**_Master…_ **

**** **_…_ ** _Master._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CH3 soon ok :beg:


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **CW:// This fic deals with rape, emotional distress, dissociation, depression and panic attacks among other icky stuff. Please be advised before you continue reading as this content may be distressing to some <3 **
> 
> I’m sorry it took so long T.T I wrote this on my phone and insta posted it so I’ll probably edit it later pffft. English sucks. 
> 
> Also I love [this](https://youtu.be/b4ah2ZpAJzc) song. I couldn't stop listening to it when I was writing >:3

Thinking back on that viscous night, Maea often wondered if she had somehow split herself in two. It was difficult for her to recall it – between the pain of being so thoroughly controlled, and the haze of strange foreign thoughts that twisted into lust, her memory was fragmented at best. She did, however, remember the pain. Similar to the pain she’d felt when burning her eyes – that tearing of the flesh and mind alike as you traumatise yourself willingly.

Even in that early naïveté, she had known Denathrius’ intent, and when she had realised how helpless she was to fight it, the shattering of her hope was enough to sink her into that same dissociation. Into that midnight abyss of comforting helplessness. Because she had been there before. The cell. The endless void of utter defeat. For her it was an atonement … of sorts. There were many a night when Maea would pass the Accuser’s study and wonder if she should speak with her …

Yet that night Denathrius had found her sins easily. A true Master of Repentance. Even years after that fateful night, she could still feel him, delving into every inch of her being – sniffing out every transgression and bubbling it to the surface.

With every soft, tender touch her mind had crumbled under the weight of harrowing visions. Of blood. Teeth. Death, and fire, and…

A red, red darkness.

A darkness she would come to call home for many cycles.

* * *

“I do hope this lesson proves to be more … enlightening, Renathal.” Denathrius’ voice was teasing. _Taunting._ He flung the bitter words over his shoulder as easily as breathing. Ever laced with false pleasantries. Renathal watched stoically as Denathrius slowly began unhitching his heavy plated armour, casting it aside as he stood beside the bed.

The overwhelming tide of wrath that now threatened to undo him kept Renathal guarded. His jaw ached from clenching his teeth, and the bitter wounds from his fray with the Generals - and later, Denathrius’ sycophantic torturers – had left him weak. Dried blood and anima painted the sheets about him. Yet still he kept his eyes fixed on his former Master, intently observing every move.

If he faltered in his resolve, he knew it would be the end of them both.

“I must admit, your education is proving to be a tedious task after all,” the mocking grin was all too clear in Denathrius’ voice, though he hid his face as he turned away from him. His ears pricked as he heard the soft sound of a bottle opening, and the tantalisingly wet sound of liquid filling a vessel.

Anima wine.

The sound was all too clear in the close quiet of the room, and Renathal grit his teeth as he heard the liquid fill the vessel to the brim. Once. Twice. He watched, deathly silent, as Denathrius turned, his usual fur and velvet robe revealing bare skin that caught flashes of low light from the lanterns and candles that adorned the room. Two goblets were in his grasp, filled with that precious, swirling anima wine. With a courteous smile, Denathrius offered one to …

_Her._

Her, poised like a doll at the end of the enormous bed, back straight, ever so slightly shaking as she took the ornate goblet in her small hands. So small that the little cup was like a bowl in her grasp…

“To … _education,”_ Denathrius purred, offering her a beaming smile as he raised his goblet. A smile that would have been beautiful – no, _was_ beautiful. Renathal felt long buried memories begin to stir – memories now tainted by betrayal and villainy. He bit back the painful smarting in his eyes, chest heaving uncomfortably as his heart wrung itself ragged with sorrow.

 _Master…_

The soft clink of the goblets brought his attention back, and he watched in grim silence as they both drank. Denathrius drained the goblet in one lavish swill, a blood red droplet trailing down the planes of his jaw, shimmering into mist as the power was absorbed. Renathal stifled the urge to growl

 _She,_ however, sipped daintily – the enormous goblet far too full for her mortal frame to handle all at once. Renathal could sense her soul growing stronger, that sickeningly _distracting_ scent of _life_ growing heavier with each sip. _Headier._ Denathrius responded instantly, breathing deeply as her aroma blossomed and filled the room.

 _She_ , of course, was oblivious, still poised in that same position. Still intentionally facing away from Renathal’s field of vision as she took small, cautious mouthfuls …

Renathal could hardly blame her - wasn’t he doing the same? Although he observed her distantly, he had resolved to keep his attention on Denathrius as often as possible. He was no fool. Denathrius’ intent was all too clear – he would make Renathal suffer by taking what was most precious to him before his very eyes.

Despite everything, Renathal knew it was a genius ploy. The potion – a rare blend of other-worldly herbs and medicinals, ritualistically fused with Denathrius’ own power – was an aphrodisiac of sorts. The sort used by the Countess during very special revelries, designed to help souls deal with their desires healthily. It would render The Maw Walker helpless against Denathrius’ advances, and pave the way for him to use the Medallion of Dominance.

Renathal knew that the Medallion was weaker when used on a living mortal – far weaker than the displays he had seen in his lifetime against disobedient Venthyr. Combined, however, with the potion, and Denathrius’ might, it was just enough to claim Maea — no, _The Maw Walker’s —_ precious mind.

And he, without his medallion, bound by enchanted steel and anima, was helpless to stop him.

When words had failed, Renathal knew his only course of action was to wait in silence. To attempt to brave the torture as he had done countless times before. To remain resolute, and bide his time

_For her…_

“Now, my dear, I do hope you’re quite _ready_ ,” Denathrius crooned, voice gravelly and low. Renathal attempted to distance himself – attempted to avoid watching on as Maea shivered, leaning down to rest her still full goblet on the floor beside her. Denathrius tutted in response, stooping to take the goblet from her hand, the lingering touch causing that infuriatingly sweet aroma to bloom into something _musky. Spices and herbs and salt and—_

Renathal shook his head sharply. _No … he could not falter now…_

Denathrius was leaning lower now, still holding her hand aloft as he leant forward, bringing their faces close. “I wonder, my dear, if your kind are aware …” he brought another hand up to delicately caress her jaw, trailing up and under her ear, sweeping a stray midnight black strand of thick, tousled hair out of her face. “Of the effects anima has on mortal souls?” He continued, now resting his hand and holding her face, barely touching her with the tips of his fingers as his hand easily dwarfed her skull. Renathal marvelled at the knowledge he could wrap his whole grip about her waist and hold her …

He swallowed as Denathrius slowly straightened, his towering frame casting Maea’s delicate form in a growing shadow, reinforcing just how _small_ she was before him. Her posture – reclining on the bed, back arced and leaning into Denathrius’ pull – serving to highlight just how _willing_ she was. How every pulse of her life force was like a beacon – filling the room with the tantalising scent of a _woman caught in lust…_

“Are you quite comfortable, my dear?” Denathrius’ voice was all honey and sweetness. Low. Maea seemed to respond instantly – whether of her own design or at the whim of her new … _Master …_ Renathal wasn’t sure.

“Yes, Master,” she breathed, and she leant into his touch all the more, a faint, hollow smile glimpsing between strands of hair as he tried oh so hard _not_ to watch her…

Not to watch how Denathrius cupped her head gently, knotting thick digits through the soft hairs at the nape of her neck, bowing her in close…

The kiss was chaste. _Slow._ Renathal couldn’t help but stare as Denathrius gently … _gently …_ guided her mouth. Instructed and _educated_ her lips. Her _tongue._ He watched as her little nose pressed up against Denathrius’ cheek, bending itself and twisting as she — _she —_ deepened the kiss. As _she_ parted her lips and crushed herself against his broad chest. His hands were already working at the still loose fastenings of her armour at her back, now trailing from her shoulders in ribbons as Denathrius began to shed them. Like flower petals…

_No…_

_“_ Excellent,” he hummed, their faces still close. Renathal felt his heart clench as he saw Maea had her eyes closed, mouth still ever so slightly parted. He could see the memory of the kiss melting her face into a vision of hopeful anticipation. Of the promises of ecstasy. Denathrius smoothed patterns across the soft skin of her throat, his eyes trailing along every plane, intently observing and documenting each new discovery.

Because she reacted to his touch as eagerly as clay. Helplessly allowing herself to melt in his hands. Hands that lifted and teased her wrappings and guards loose. That revealed still more of her stunning landscape – the acute _smoothness_ of her mortal flesh. Flesh neither he nor Denathrius had tasted in such a way for _millennia…_

“Will y— you…?” her little voice was nonetheless commanding despite how breathy and wanton it was – two sets of ears trained to listen to every timbre of it. Every inflection. The slight hitch of breath, like a sob, tearing shreds from his heart. Renathal bit back another growl as he tried to focus on _anything. Anything but her…_

“ _Yes,_ my dear,” Denathrius’ voice was impossibly low now. Predatory. The new aromas filling the room suddenly became familiar. Melding with Maea’s intoxicating scent and turning it into something all the more delectable. Renathal could feel his heart racing in his rib cage, the desire to breathe heavily barely quashed by his furious _will._

He could not allow Denathrius the satisfaction…

“G—Good…” she breathed, hands now draped about Denathrius’ broad shoulders as he leant in to mouth at her neck. His lips, large and imposing against the thin column of her neck, parted to reveal the sharp edges of his teeth. Maea sucked in a sharp breath as he ever so slightly bit at her skin, leaving soft kisses in his wake as he bit and mouthed and licked at every tendon. Every small simple of skin and bone and muscle. _Tasting_ that flesh and all of its delights with all the abandon of someone used to getting what he _wanted. Used to taking and taking…_

 _“Yes…”_ her voice was all breath and wonder, her eyes still closed as her hands grew limp about Denathrius’ shoulders. He took her response, and acted on it without hesitation. One hand slipped down the bare expanse of her back, the flesh there forming divets as her back arced all the more into his touch. He was holding her to him, expertly gripping at her waist. So small in his hands…

Renathal was so transfixed – so _furious_ in his fervent attempts to ignore as much as he could – he didn’t notice that Denathrius’ other hand was now worming its way down her stomach. Was now fluidly shifting to grip at the painfully soft swell of her thigh.

Her legs parted all on their own, and Renathal felt tears sting his eyes as the most beautiful melody – a broken, awestruck cry – met his ears. As Denathrius worked between her thighs, powerful muscles bunching and tensing as he touched and _explored…_

 _“Gods…”_ she breathed, eyes flinging open in shock and wonder as she instinctively raised herself up, finding purchase on Denathrius’ fur robe as she held on for dear life. Her movements afforded Renathal the most _exquisite_ view of where Denathrius’ finger – for he could only use one, of course – disappeared into _soft, warm flesh. Into comfort and **life**_ \- it’s aroma was choking as Maea’s own anima began to pool and surge. The effects were almost painful – the soft amber of Renathal’s eyes growing brighter. _Hungrier._ He had to find a way to _control it._

Because she was astride him now, lowering herself onto his finger and mewling delightfully. Every sound she made was a chorus – a deafening ode to ecstasy. Renathal couldn’t help but grit his teeth, forcing his eyes to close as he tried to block it all out…

But he could hear them – that scrumptiously _wet_ sound and the little hums of pleasure enough to drive him insane.

 _Insane and broken and **without…**_ ****

“That’s it, my dear,” Denathrius’ voice was still strong – positively wicked in its low gravelly tone. Yet Renathal knew him well enough to know Denathrius was breathless.

Of course, how could he not be? To be the puppet master of such an exquisite display. To be the choir master. The instructor. The one responsible for offering her _so much pleasure_. Because her face was all too clear in the low red light and Renathal was transfixed. Fixated on the way her brow creased and her hair began to tousle itself lose. How her full lips parted, small tongue resting against them as she moaned. _Loudly._ As her hips began to shudder and break the rhythm of her slow movements, picking up speed.

Denathrius, cradling her in his lap, watched on intently with that same arrogant smirk. She opened her eyes, and instantly found his gaze, staring longingly and absently into the whirling vibrant red there with all the devotion of a lover. With care and reverence Denathrius smiled at her – a proud, amused thing, though even that seemed to be enough to excite her. Enough to make her beam, her own smile almost blinding. Renathal’s heart was a ragged heap of painful jagged edges – every slow descent of her hips, every little roll of flesh bunching and dimpling in Denathrius’ sure grip – enough to break him.

_Because he knew … he knew all along he’d wanted this …_

Maea. Not the Maw Walker. Not the fierce warrior or the astute ambassador. Not even the saviour of Sinfall…

Just Maea. He’d wanted _her_ from the very first.

He’d wanted to watch as every part of her body thrummed with pleasure – pleasure he knew he could give her. Would shower on her until she drowned. Would paint the walls and fill their home with laughter. Love.

And she was throwing it away. Throwing it away on _him…_

 _“_ Yes,” Denathrius said with a flashing smile, sharp teeth revealing themselves, eyes flashing as he seemed to feel the rush of excitement as Maea once more picked up her pace. She was bouncing now – the motions serving to make her flesh all the more tantalising as it rolled and bounced along with her. As the perfect swell of her ass met Denathrius’ lap over and over and over. She was squirming now, lifting herself up ever higher, angling into that one wicked finger, large enough to fill her completely. Large enough to cause her to whine and cry out “Master! Master master master—“

“You’re close _pet,”_ Denathrius crooned, leaning in to take the soft, long edge of her ear into his mouth, tongue lapping at the sensitive skin behind, free arm acting as support as he held her to him. Renathal hissed as he saw blood – thick and red and _delicious –_ begin to bead on her dark skin where Denathrius’ nails had _clawed at her._

But she was no less violent. Renathal could see she was now using the horns of Denathrius’ head for purchase, gripping them tightly in her little hands as she worked herself faster. Ever faster. Grinding and bucking and bouncing herself into oblivion. Her wails turned to keening. To screams and shouts far too beautiful for how viscerally they tore his heart to pieces.

And Denathrius was growling now – he seemed to be finding his own release. Renathal hissed – of course he was. Of course he would take a goddess in his hands and wonder at how _she_ could satisfy _him—_

 _“_ A little … more, my dear,” Denathrius’ voice was broken now, the exertion and excitement all too clear in his voice. But Renathal knew he was expertly aware of her body. Of how the little thrums of pleasure dancing across her skin were as clear as day. Because she _was_ close. Her voice was a high, broken wail now, rising and rising as she furiously ground herself against him. The brief glimpses he got of their joining showed that Denathrius was now working another digit into her, she screamed as he spread her open further, her head flinging back as he pushed and pushed, two fingers now toying with her, finding that sweet, sweet knot of pleasure and guiding her over the edge…

“Ah! M—Master… Master!” Her words were all but incoherent as her movements suddenly halted, as she held herself with his horns in her hand, gasping and crying out “Denathrius … ah … Denathrius…”

And despite all his years of training – the thousands of cycles that had ground out a will of iron – Renathal knew the thin hold he had on his own mind was slipping.

He never imagined, in all his millennia of experience, that the most beautiful thing he’d ever witness would also be his undoing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4 is already drafted, so hopefully there won’t be as much of a wait for that one hhhhhh
> 
> Also don’t forget you can find me [here](https://twitter.com/lilprivmin) if you want art to go along with your sinful reading. There's also a lot of screaming there. Feel free to join me as I unravel.


End file.
